


darling, ink, silence

by Nylex



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Fingering, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Unrequited Lust, tattoo kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nylex/pseuds/Nylex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three random pairings with three random themes given to them. Fili/Kili -- Unrequited/Angst, Dwalin/Ori -- Fluff, Thorin/Bilbo -- Light D/s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	darling, ink, silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is me basically derping around and wanting to write pointlessness. Each section is exactly five hundred words long, which was more difficult than you'd think. I picked three random pairings from The Hobbit and found a long list of random themes, and ran them through a generator to find which one I would have to write.
> 
> It worked out surprisingly well, actually.

**darling  
** _{Fili/Kili – Angst/Unrequited}_

“Brother darling, do pass the bread,” Fili said idly.

Kili doesn’t let him see what that does to him— _darling_ , he hears it in his sleep, when he’s about to drift off and he sees his brother’s face. _Darling darling darling_. A pet name, a quick affection, and whenever he says it Kili makes sure that he only sees a playful grimace; over the years, they got used to each other’s masks, but in this one area Kili fancies himself an expert. Hiding his true feelings for his brother, such _wrong_ feelings they are too, but deliciously wrong.

There is no doubt in his mind that Fili is the most beautiful Dwarrow he knows; hair the color of sunshine, with little clasps and glass beads catching the light, and such bright blue eyes. Fili got the Durin eyes, dark cobalt and striking, whereas Kili was pale and fair with eyes of dark wood.

How Kili would love to tug the braids in his brother’s hair, yank him down for a kiss; they completed each other naturally, why forbid themselves this one area?

“The _bread_?” Fili demands, elbowing his brother. Kili starts and shoves the loaf into his hands.

He watches his brother’s hands as they dexterously tear off a hunk of bread, watch his teeth as they bite down. What he could do with those hands, with that mouth, the ideas start whirling crazily through his head. Fili, his lips flushed with kisses and marks on his neck, naked and writhing underneath his younger brother.

Ah, yes, _that_ would turn the tables a bit; and Kili would be sure to wait until his brother was begging and pleading for entrance, wait until he was about to go mad without contact.

“Thinking about something?” Fili asks lightly, and Kili sees the easy smile on his elder brother’s face. No, no it was _wrong_. He couldn’t touch his brother like that, he couldn’t _feel that way_.

The relationship he had with his brother was perfect—how horrifying it would be to kiss his brother or show some kind of affection, and see his brother’s shocked, disgusted face.

He would rather turn his sword around and use it on himself than see that expression on his beloved. He shrugged. “Just tired, is all,” Kili mutters. “Too many nights of sleeping on the hard ground.”

“Well, cheer up, it can only get worse from here,” Fili says brightly, “so the best days are behind us.”

The two of them fall into an easy, companionable conversation, and nobody notices the grief that flashes across Kili’s face when his brother lays a hand on his shoulder. Easy talk indeed—they spoke about everything, there was no secret that they kept from one another.

Except this one. And it was destroying him from the inside out. He half-wished to simply tell his brother and claim no action for his thoughts, but that would be a lie.

He wanted his brother in the worst, most sinful of ways.

* * *

 

**ink  
** _{Dwalin/Ori – Fluff}_

He hasn’t quite gotten used to it yet—opening his eyes in the morning and seeing a familiar freckled face only inches from his own. Gentle, affectionate touches to the elbow or the hand as they walk along hallways, being included in someone’s daily thoughts. Dwalin had plenty of dalliances but few relationships, and what a queer relationship he was in with this little scribe!

“I want to taste your tattoos,” Ori remarks lazily one day, lying in bed with his feet in the air, a pillow beneath his stomach. Dwalin started and looked up from the axe he was sharpening, wondering where this had come from. Ori was completely uncomfortable with publically discussing their bedroom endeavors, but my, was he bold once the door was closed.

Dwalin arches a brow and waits. The scribe rolls over and he sees the pale, freckled chest, knowing that he’s mapped every inch of that skin with his touch and mouth. What a thought, to know every bit of someone more thoroughly than your own body.

Ori blinks at him. “They’re so…interesting. I can’t imagine them not hurting, but the runes are really rather incredible.”

“Are they, now?” Dwalin rumbles, and his partner flushes pink. Without a second word, Dwalin pulls his tunic over his head and joins Ori on the bed, wishing to indulge the little scribe.

The small Dwarf wastes no time and straddles Dwalin’s back, spanning his small hands over the large muscles. His palms skim scars and tattoos, both of them carrying stories and memories; Ori wants to know all of them, and he impulsively drops his head to kiss an especially deep white scar on Dwalin’s left shoulder. The captain breathes slowly, but Ori felt the shudder beneath his hips.

Working slowly downwards, Ori traces the tattoos with his tongue, pausing every so often to nuzzle a scar or trace it with his finger. He doesn’t know how much his feather-light touches drive Dwalin mad, how easily Ori can undo him—sitting atop his mountain of a lover, Ori is entranced by the stories surrounding him.

Ori scrapes his teeth gently over a dark spiral, reading the protective runes of Mahal that are written out on Dwalin’s lower back. He knows his beard tickles but can’t help it, and notices for the first time that Dwalin is obviously fighting to control himself. The scribe sits up.

“Dwalin, are you all ri—?”

“ _Don’t stop_!” Dwalin barks, more gruffly than intended. It’s hurting his heart, having small, sweet Ori trace over his scars and markings, almost like undoing the damaged caused. He wishes fervently that Ori could leave permanent marks of his kisses, he always wants to remember them.

Ori kisses the nape of Dwalin’s neck. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and Dwalin’s shoulders tighten. His lover’s ink-stained fingers mirror the dark ink sewn onto his skin. His heart is so full.

All the lovers he had lain with, and Ori had been the only one to title him thusly.

 

* * *

 

**silence  
** _{Thorin/Bilbo – Light D/s}_

“Come here, pet,” Thorin snarls, and Bilbo shivers all over at the command. Blunt fingers, heavy and circled with rings, grasp his hair and twist as Bilbo crawls over to him; he looks up and sees the dark smirk on his king’s face, the powerful blue eyes pinning him down as securely as a butterfly on a pin. Sitting between his knees, Bilbo’s breath catches in his throat and he licks his lips, wishing the cord binding his hands was not so restricting.

The king of Erebor hauls his lover into his lap, spreading his thighs with his knees, and one hand goes to the small of his back to steady him. The other moves downwards and strokes his cock, firm and just gentle enough to make Bilbo thrash for more. “Eager little thing,” Thorin purrs, setting his teeth into the point of his ear. The Halfling muffles his cries, biting his lower lip, for Thorin had forbidden him to make a sound.

A finger probes between his legs and Bilbo’s breath comes quicker, wanting more and yet unable to ask for it. Thorin grins against his neck. “Ah, this keeps you so very concerned, my little one,” Thorin murmurs almost mockingly, “to keep your silence while I fill you thusly?” He adds and second finger and twists just slightly, delighted by the way Bilbo throws his head back, so determined not to moan.

Just when Bilbo feels as though he can’t possibly keep quiet, because silver stars as flashing in his vision and the whole world is tipping, he hears Thorin’s deep, rough voice saying, “You are released from your command. Scream for me, Master Burglar.”

The Hobbit cries out brokenly, bucking against Thorin’s hand as the Dwarf crooks them, skimming a sensitive spot and making Bilbo’s toes curl in pleasure. Bilbo leans forward, dropping his head on Thorin’s shoulder and the strong Dwarf supports his full weight, using his other hand to palm Bilbo’s cock while adding a third finger. It is torture, decadent torture, and Bilbo clenches around his fingers as a white-hot sheet of pleasure rips through him, making the edges of his vision haze up.

Thorin continues stroking him and Bilbo thrashes at the overstimulation; when the aftershocks have been well and truly ridden out, Thorin rolls with Bilbo onto his side, and the two of them lay breathlessly in bed.

“Here,” Thorin said quietly, and uses his knife on the bonds holding Bilbo’s hands behind his back. The Hobbit instantly wraps his arms around Thorin and kisses him soundly.

“You’re wonderful,” Bilbo tells him, and curls next to his chest. Thorin strokes the back of his head sleepily, nearly as worn out as his tired burglar. A trace of power lingers in his gaze, but for now he is exhausted. The night was aging, and as satisfied as Thorin felt he didn’t wish to move for a good while. His pet was nearly asleep, and Thorin pressed a kiss into his hair.

“Sleep, _ghivashel._ ”

 


End file.
